


the beginning

by LT_Aldo_Raine



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Canon Compliant, England (Country), Episode: s05e03 The Replacement, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 04:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18491677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LT_Aldo_Raine/pseuds/LT_Aldo_Raine
Summary: If there was one thing that Babe had learned, it was that if Sgt. Bill Guarnere told him he should do something, then Babe should fuckin’ do it. So, the redhead had gone in search of a company medic and was eventually pointed in the direction of a guy named Gene Roe.OR: We get to see Babe and Bill meet for the first time, but we don't get the same with Gene. So, here's how I think it mighta gone down.





	the beginning

After that first failed jump—Babe will never forget the way the name _Doris_ was scrawled across the nose of the plane, the letters all thick and curvy, the paint shining in the sunlight—, Babe vomited. _Hard._ His platoon had no sooner left the tarmac than the redhead from South Philly found himself doubled over in an English hedgerow, puking out his guts.

Bill was gracious enough to leave out that part of the story when he retold it days later at some cozy little pub full of good ole American boys who were boozed up on Irish stouts and English ales. Bill— _Gonorrhea_ , as the guys called him—had been gracious when it had happened, too. He’d slapped Babe on the back a few times, just to make sure it was all out, then helped the redhead right himself and remove his pack.

Babe had been so goddamn embarrassed. “I’m not a fuckin’ pussy,” he’d clamored as he wiped spit from his lips, mouth dry, throat raw. “Honest.”

“Nah, I know, I know.” Bill had waved off Babe’s declarations of bravery without another word. “Its those pills,” the other Philly native explained. “—the ones they gave us for the jump. They make a lot of the fellas sick and shit, ya know. Happened last time, too. Don’t worry about it. But, uh, you should probably go see Doc ‘cause it can last a few hours.”

The redhead snorted. “A few hours? What else am I gonna puke up, my liver? I ain’t got anythin’ else left in me!”

But if there was one thing that Babe had learned immediately upon his introduction to the loudmouthed Italian, it was that Sgt. Bill Guarnere was—contrary to the _everything_ about his general disposition—a wise man, and that if Bill told him he should do something, then Babe should fuckin’ do it. So, the redhead had gone in search of a company medic and was eventually pointed in the direction of a guy named Gene Roe.

Roe was a small man—short and lean—with a shock of jet-black hair and dark eyes that were so piercing it was a little unnerving to be the focus of his gaze. Babe had seen him around a few times, recognized him from the mess tent and company briefings. He was a Toccoa man, like Bill and the others, but with him more than most, Babe had a hard time imagining this guy jumping into Normandy and surviving. Maybe it was because he was so small, or maybe it was because when Babe had said, ‘Hey, Doc, I need ya help,’ the man had looked at him with such an open willingness to help that the kind expression was almost immediately endearing.

The medic, who Babe would later—much later—learn was from Louisiana, from a family of faith healers and Cajun doctors, knew immediately what to do for Babe’s upset stomach.

“Here, drink this,” the dark-haired medic handed him a canteen. Babe took the proffered object and unscrewed the cap, lifting it to his lips, but he paused before he drank to ask, “What is it?”

The guy glanced at him with a raised brow and replied, frankly, “Water.”

 _Oh._ Babe sighed, tired of feeling like a jackass, and tilted the canteen back, letting the water cascade into his mouth. He found that he was suddenly quite thirsty, and he didn’t stop drinking until the canteen was empty. “Uh, thanks,” Babe muttered as he passed the canteen back to the medic, who in turn dropped a few plastic-wrapped bobbles into Babe’s open palm.

“Peppermint,” the guy informed him with a little nod. “They’ll ease your stomach a bit. I’d eat one every half an hour or so. You’ll also wanna keep drinkin’ plenty o’water ‘cause you’re gonna be dehydrated now. Get some bread in ya, too, if ya can, and don’t eat too heavy at dinner tonight.”

Babe nodded along as the dark-haired medic spoke, mentally making a list of everything the guy was saying. The concentration must’ve shown on his face because the guy quit speaking abruptly, a slight smile twinging his lips, and he told Babe gently, “You gone be fine.”

The Philly native gave a happy, if somewhat sheepish smile. This medic was an alright guy. “Hey, thanks, Doc. I appreciate it.”

Though his expression was a touch more reserved, the medic mirrored Babe’s grin. “Sho’ thing. Anytime.”

And that was how Babe Heffron met Gene Roe. In that moment—before he’d ever seen combat, before he’d ever watched a man die, before he’d ever taken a man’s life—, Babe had no way of knowing that in a few months’ time, he would be hauling the momentarily stunned medic out of a frozen foxhole, shaking the Cajun out of his haze and sending him on his way to patch up a Company officer. Babe had no way of knowing about a kid named Julian, a chocolate bar and a blue ribbon, or a Belgian nurse called Renee. He had no way of knowing that, by the end of this whole thing, Gene Roe would matter more to him than air itself.

But, no matter. He had time to learn.

This—Babe and Gene and a handful of peppermints and the English countryside—was just the beginning.


End file.
